The Americano
by vanillaclouds101
Summary: After the catastrophic events of V-Day, Kingsman realizes it's taken more of a blow than expected. In need of a new Arthur, new knights, and new agents in general, the Secret Service receives outside help – wanted or not. (Somewhat AU, becomes I'm not sure how the American branch of Kingsman would work. Post-movie, Hartwin angst if you squint.)


"I'm just sayin' Rox, what the fuck are we suppose to be doin' when 'The Secret Service' is more of a Secret Group now that more than half of our guys' heads have flown off?"

Two pairs of unsurprising polished Oxfords hit the streets of Westminster, the ground slick and wet with morning drizzle, and two black umbrellas hover in the air over their owners. Roxy sighed. "I'm pretty sure I told you this last night; we'll still be working, just not as much as we could have before. This entire predicament is a timely process."

"And you're sure 'bout that."

"Of course." A pause. "I think."

Eggsy gave out a laugh and twirled his umbrella, letting the rain flake out around him as they reached the tailor shop. It was Roxy's special day, picking up baby's first bespoke suit. He was proud. She grew up so fast.

And he would have happily carried out their incredibly intellectual conversation on _what the fuck they were going to be doing for a job now_ , but the far right mannequin styled in the window gave a fair warning. Blue pocket square: no spy talk allowed, just strictly normal daytime business. Roxy opened the door with a little jingle and Eggsy let it slam close.

"Good morning, Ms Morton. Mr Unwin."

"Morning, Dagonet," said Roxy with a close-lipped smile. "I'm here to pick up my suit?"

"Ah, of course. Fitting room one," said Dagonet, nodding her towards it with thin glasses perched on an equally thin nose.

Eggsy shakes his umbrella down before he leans on it, something which Roxy and Merlin have told him multiple times not to do, but he manages to let their warnings eacape his head every time he does it. He's huffing and picking at his nails when company arrives. It's just some pitiful boy with slicked blonde hair who's clearly having his own special day, also. What a coincidence. Another Baby's-First-Bespoke-Suit.

The kid stands obediently still, looking like a frozen bean stalk as one of Dagonet's henchmen buzzes around him with his tools, and his just as slick blonde mother croons into her phone about a _lovely_ little dining etiquette class for the sweet, sweet children to someone named Una. _Good for the children_ , Eggsy thinks. It's about time they were taught manners about forks and spoons and such.

He lets his fingers toy with the various fabrics the shop has to offer when Roxy emerges from Fitting Room One, looking very pristine and generally all around impeccable. She looks better in a suit than he does, and Eggsy's not sure if he's upset by that or not.

She's dressed in a cool variant of grey that looks well against her petite frame, with a jacket that fits nice and snug around slim shoulders and a slender waist. Her pants are straight and wide, leading down to a pair of traditional Oxfords that match Eggsy's. He gives a low whistle.

"A-ha, lookin' very good, Rox." He gives an appreciative smile, and Roxy reciprocates ten fold. She looks like a million bucks, and the grin curling on her lips makes her look worth even more. "Do you think so?" Eggsy replies with a slow _uh-huh_ , and her grin broadens.

"Glad to hear that you think so too."

Mrs Slick intrudes on their moment. "I wasn't aware that you had begun dressing women," she says with an air of _something_ – like superiority and disdain and stuck-uppery mixed together and poured into a human cake mold – and Eggsy has had enough experience to know what kind of being she is. "I thought Kingsman was a traditional tailor." She adds, and both Roxy and Eggsy scrunch up their noses towards each other. Out of sight, of course.

"Ah, well, times are changing, Lady Havershed," Dagonet gives a wrinkled smile. "And we've adapted to change with them. Happily. In fact, many women are frequenting the shop for their own personal needs. I had a young lady hear just the other day, picking up her own suit." He turns to give a secret smile at the two spies, something endearing and excited in his features. Mrs Slick _humphs_ and puckers her lips.

"I can presume you're satisfied with the suit, Ms Morton?"

"Yes, very. It's wonderful, thank you." Roxy gives another blinding grin and firmly shakes Dagonet's hand.

"Actually, d'you mind if we take a visit to fitting room three?" Eggsy inquires with a raised eyebrow, and Dagonet bows and presents them to it, if not haltingly. There is company, after all. Speaking of, Mrs Slick lets out a perturbed noise and ushers her son into his own fitting room, looking scandalized as can be. As if he and Rox were going to start getting at right then and there.

 _For shame_ , Eggsy can imagine her scolding to her son with red cheeks. _For shame_.

He enjoys watching Roxy _ooh_ and _ahh_ over the field gear behind Fitting Room Three. She selects a signet ring and places it on her thin left pinky, a watch that looks sleek when paired with her suit, and is just in the process of fiddling with the weighted knives and daggers when a soft, rapping tap comes from the door. Dagonet calls, "If I'm not interrupting, your presence is requested upstairs. The meeting takes place in just a few minutes."

The Slick Haversheds are gone then, Eggsy presumes. Not for the first time, the upstairs of the Kingsman shop is unrelentingly quiet, sharp and solemn in its silence. Eggsy isn't familiar with it, doesn't think he ever will be, and readjusts his jacket via shrug before letting his head pop around the door of Arthur's office, which now – technically – belongs to Merlin. Or, at least Eggsy believes so. Not much has been established yet, with everything gone to hell for a short while.

Eggsy and Roxy enter upon spotting that Merlin, Percival, and various unknown guests are sitting opposite one another, hands presumably folded primly on their laps with manila folders piled and spread in front of them, scattering across the table.

"Ah, Eggsy," Merlin says, glancing up with a tired gaze. Eggsy pities him, imagines the paperwork the poor sod has to go through. "And Roxy. Good. We're all here, then."

"Morning, Lancelot," says Percival, and Roxy greets him with a warm hug. Eggsy feels a pang in his chest at that, and briefly beats himself with the idea of what it would be like to be able to do that. He pushes it from his mind as soon as it begins to hurt too much.

"Sir," Roxy says, but with a familiar tone that could be considered as fond. "How are you? I haven't been able to see you since before –"

"Ah, yes. As you can see, I'm alive," Percival says with a smile that's got to hurt, considering his nasty busted lip. "A broken wrist, a few cracked ribs, and I've got an impressive cut from a bottle of '37 Chateaux D'Yquim, but that will just turn into a good story for another day, I hope."

"That's – that's good. . ." Roxy lets out a tentative sigh before shaking her head. "I mean, not exactly _good_ , but – I can imagine that there could have been worse injuries, yeah?"

"Yes, absolutely." Percival nods grimly, and the room becomes one with solemn silence. It only lasts for a moment.

Eggsy gives a glance towards the other tall suits in the room, counting the overbearing total of _five_. Pitiful, really. "This is it then, all the knights? Like, they're all here in person, not just loggin' in digitally." He asks, and he manages to not sound absolutely fucking disappointed.

"Mostly, what's left of them at least," Merlin says. "We've got a fair few still posted around Beijing and Seoul and such, but they'll be on their first flights back, once the bloody airports start back up."

"And, technically speaking, not all of us present are Kingsman knights," Percival nods towards two of the five suits Eggsy had counted, one male and the other female. He reined in his not unpleasant surprise; he had thought Rox was the first – and only – woman Kingsman agent. What a pleasant surprise indeed. Now, Rox won't be lonely, with a female companion to trade secrets with. Like how to kill a man with heels.

"From the New York headquarters of the American branch, I introduce agents Maslow and Kelly." Merlin let his shining head incline towards the couple. Eggsy noted that his cranium looked extra sparkly this morning. "They will be _graciously_ assisting us during this time, which we are _all thankful for_. We will treat them accordingly, as you understand." Eggsy wasn't entirely sure Merlin wasn't being a little shit, it was hard to tell, but considered the stink eyed glances from the two 'agents' to be something worth noting.

Maybe Americans were just naturally mean looking.

* * *

Scottsdale Kelly lets her fingers grip onto the crisp fabric of her blouse, stretching her sharp collar and adjusting her pristine cuffs. She's perched in a cushy wooden chair with a poofy bottom, her eyes soaking in the ink splattered contents of the manila folder that was handed over to her upon her arrival at St. Ermin's Hotel two nights ago.

She's looking over the candidacy files for the New & (Hopefully) Improved Arthur, along with the remainder of their agents. Their losses weren't as bad as they could have been, Scotts decides after plowing through most of the ink clotted papers. More than plenty of their own had been swayed by Richmond Valentine's 'Save The Planet, Kill Pretty Much All Of Humanity' idea – much thanks to Chester King for that one, thanks buddy – but there were still competent agents in their ranks.

At least, there were enough so that they weren't an entirely lost cause.

"Will we be discussing . . . Gary Unwin, is it? The recruit from Lancelot's candidacy? What is it with him, he an agent now or what." Torrence Maslow, seated across Scotts and in between agents Percival and Kay, doesn't look up from Gary Unwin's file as he speaks, his voice nasal and stuffy. Poor fella caught some sort of sick before his departure from New York. His knobby fingers flap the thin stack of papers as he showcases it to the knights around him. There's a short square photo of the boy clipped to the papers, a photo from his training days.

"Yes, Eggsy Unwin," says Merlin. "We will be discussing him, and shortly. He and agent Lancelot live locally and will be present during this meeting."

"Lancelot? That's that girl, Percival's candidate, yes?" Scotts asks with a finely plucked brow raised high as she flips through thick files. She stops once she reaches the one titled _Roxanne Morton_ and extracts it from the rest, unfolding the short square photo clipped to the corner and giving an appraising look over the fair face imprinted on it. _Very, very nice_ , she thinks as she combs through the various reports listed. Tested well in all aspects of her training, and Scotts has to smile at the ' _fear of heights'_ scrawled sloppily in the corner of the last page of her file, along with ' _severely allergic to peanuts and all peanut products'_.

"She looks promising. She worked on the Valentine assignment, right?"

"Yes, she did. Gave an outstanding performance also, given the circumstances." Percival has a warm glow to his usual stale expression, eyes crinkling with his effort to smile at the thought of his protégé. There was a splint on his left wrist and more than a few scrapes and bruises blotched on his face. His nose was too swollen to place his glasses on, and the thick lenses were instead folded neatly in the pocket square of his suit jacket.

Scotts grinned, "It's about time you brought in some fresh, _female_ recruits. You might have a higher mission success rate."

"We do ' _bring them in_ ', they just don't pass."

"I did. And look at what that did for America."

"Ah. You're referring to almost destroying the country."

"Would you shut the fuck up. Both of you. This is a professional setting, have a little dignity at work." Merlin barked, loudly and gruffly, before the two agents seated in front of him decided to get fancy and whip out their dueling pistols.

Scotts and Percival collectively opened their mouths, shut them, picked up their fountain pens – which made Merlin increasingly nervous that, if the event should ever arise, one would most definitely stab the other with the writing utensil (the non-lethal injected type) – and began scribbling on their files with pinched faces. Merlin made a mental post-it note to contact the supervising officers in the New York headquarters after the meeting. Maybe he could request a different agent.

Seconds turned into minutes which seemed like hours before there was a soft knock on the door, followed by a blonde head poking around it. A grunt from Merlin – his _come hither_ signal – has two adults, young and bright eyed and bushy tailed, walking swiftly into the dining room, backs stiff straight and chins turned high. Scotts sets her pen down to take a look at the babes.

As it turns out, Eggsy Unwin and Roxanne Morton looked better in person than they did in their photos.


End file.
